Thoughts On A Bowl Poem by Annabelle James
Thoughts On A Bowl
A black hollow bowl,
The bowl...
Is my heart
I am a pioneer of pain
Nobody understands, nobody can see.
The pain that is, being me
The dogs no longer acknowledge me
With their solidarity bark
Because they know that I
Am dead inside
Within the hollow chambers of my tortured being
There lies no more a beating heart
Instead a lonely pack of 6AA batteries
That beat this fountain of wasted tears through my wasted body
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
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8/24/2026 6:51:01 AM # rel_20260813T193622Z_3aad590
Hey, anyone who can write wonderful images such as 'the pioneer' of pain can't be 'dead.' You're a poet. Now get busy and write another.